Prophecy
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: My first 666 fic. Takes place while Isaac is too weak to leave the church. One of the Children's children knows where he's hiding -- and has a bone to pick with Isaac. PG-13 for language and implications of violence.


--This is based during 666, when Isaac was too weak to leave the church. Yes -- this is blatant, shameless self-insertion. Mary is me under a different name, living in Gatlin. She looks like me, she wears the same clothes I do, and all her arguments are mine exactly. Can you imagine me arguing with Isaac? o.0 God help the world. Anywhos, I don't own anyone except Mary... because, uh, she's me. ^_^--  
  
It was nighttime.  
  
    Isaac sat in the church, perfectly silent.  Candles flickered in the dim light, casting unearthly shadows on the altar and empty pews.  His face was calm and blank, complacent as he stared up at the immense cross hung on the wall.  It was rather disturbing, that cross;  where Jesus would've normally been, there was a large figure made of woven corn husks.  Disturbing as it was, it made Isaac smile.  At last, the prophecy would be complete.  His son would have a son;  just as Matthew had been born of Isaac, Samuel would be born of Matthew.  And he would be…_ perfect._  
  
    The church doors opened.  Isaac wouldn't have noticed, so lost in his thoughts, except just as they let in the slim figure - the hinges creaked.  He smiled to himself and turned slowly to look at the one who had entered.  It was a mild surprise;  Isaac had thought it was Cora, or Jesse, or maybe even Rachel.  Instead it was a girl, a teenager, maybe 15 or 16  Her hair was short and blonde.  Blue eyes glinted in the candlelight.  Isaac, who was sure he knew every child in town, didn't recognize her.  But it wasn't the lack of recognition that surprised him -- it was the small steak knife clutched tightly in her hand  Her eyes widened, startled, when he saw her.  But Isaac continued to smile.  
"Child," he said softly, getting unsteadily to his feet.  The cane he grasped was twisted and knobby, but at least it supported his weight.  Isaac took a careful step towards the girl;  he noted with mild pleasure that she stumbled backwards clumsily.  "Why do you bring such a thing into the house of the Lord?" he murmured.  The girl hid her surprise -- and the knife - abruptly.  
"You're Isaac," she said slowly.  There was a trace of doubt in her voice;  Isaac noticed the quick inspection as her gaze passed over him.  
"Yes."  He smiled and moved a little closer towards her.  The girl didn't panic this time.  She stood her ground, chin tilted back in an unconscious expression of defiance.  But he had already seen fear in her eyes, and that was another reason his face remained calm.  "And who are you, child?"  
"I have heard of you."  She dodged the question, then paused and closed the door behind her with a soft click.  "And your prophecy."  Isaac laced his hands complacently over the top of his cane.  
"Good," he said calmly.  "I am pleased to know that my word is being spread to the children."  He paused, then added fondly, "The children of the Children."  The girl frowned a little.  Isaac tapped his fingers on the wood of his cane, then tipped his head slightly.  "Your name, child?"  The girl kept the blade hidden expertly behind her back, but -- like her initial panic -- it had already been seen and noted for future reference.  
"I have a few questions for you, Isaac," she said firmly.  She shifted a little;  Isaac looked her over quickly.  She was slim and mildly tan, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans.  Her shirt was a raggedy old sweater, blue and frayed at the sleeves and collar  He also noted, with faint amusement, that she was wearing combat boots.  
"Perhaps I shall answer them."  He gave her one last calculating glance before turning and hobbling slowly towards the back of the church.  "Only when you answer mine."  There was a brief silence before soft footsteps pattered after him, muffled by the carpet.  
"Mary," she said flatly.  
"Mary," he repeated, and smiled.  Isaac lowered himself slowly to the pew, being careful not to awaken any of the sleeping pains in his back.  "Mary, Mary…  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee."  The girl blinked in surprise, then crinkled her lips into a sneer.  
"Cut the charismatic crap, Isaac."  Mary stopped suddenly, a hot insult teetering on the tip of her tongue.  She looked Isaac over, seemed to see something she was looking for, and abruptly calmed down.  "And just answer my questions," she added quietly.  Isaac's lips stayed in their complacent smile, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that she had just seen something he didn't want her to.  
"Ask your questions," he said obligingly, and spread his hands in a gesture of openness.  Mary hesitated, then sat down in the pew adjacent to him.  As she crossed her legs, Isaac saw her slip the steak knife between the hymnals beside her.  
"Your prophecy," she began slowly, being careful with each word.  "Is it true?"  Isaac smiled easily at her.  
"Of course it's true.  He Who Walks Behind The Rows has told me so."  He paused, then murmured, " 'The first born--' "  
" 'Son and the first born daughter shall have a child before midnight of the Sacred Eve.  He shall be a boy named Samuel, and he will be a prophet.' "  Mary finished for him, then added drily, "He will come in glory, and his kingdom will have no end."  She smirked a little.  "Right?"  Isaac nearly frowned, but he caught himself in time.  
"Do not taint His words, Mary," he said quietly.  She gave him a tight-lipped smile and crossed her legs again.  
"It wouldn't be the first time someone's twisted the Word of the Lord."  He felt his brows twitch darkly.  This, most certainly, was _not _one of his Children.  
"Who are your parents, child?" he asked softly.  The girl looked surprised at first, but she recovered.  
"Moses," she murmured.  "And Elisabeth."  Isaac paused.  The names, they were familiar… but only mildly.  
"Moses," he repeated, and pretended to remember.  "Ah, Moses… and Elisabeth."  Isaac's mouth curled into a pleasant grin.  "Loyal followers." Mary's lips were pressed into another thin smile.  
"Then it should be quite a shock," she said nonchalantly, "to learn that my mother died in childbirth four years after the Appearance of the Interlopers.  And my _father_--"  Mary smoothed a crease on her jeans idly.  "--was killed a month afterwards.  Defending _your _word when the remaining Children wanted to storm the hospital."  Isaac paused, genuinely surprised.  _Amazing, _he thought drily.  _I've caused death before, after, and even during my coma._  
"My condolences," he murmured.  
"Yeah, well."  Mary's lips thinned even more. "I always thought they died for a worthy cause… until now." Isaac tipped his head questioningly.  
"Oh?" He shifted a little on the uncomfortable pew and allowed a small frown to twitch his brows. "And why have you lost faith, my child?" The girl's head jerked backwards angrily.  
"My parents are dead. I am no one's child," she said through clenched teeth. "Least of all yours." The sudden, harsh blast of anger made Isaac smile involuntarily.  
"We are all children of God," he said, voice mild, and laced his hands neatly in his lap. "Why have you lost faith, Mary?" She relaxed a little, leaning back to rest against the pew.  
"I have been studying your teachings." Mary kept a wary eye on him and rubbed at her neck idly. "Some of the Children had taken the liberty of putting them into words, and I read them all. Every lesson." Isaac's mouth twitched into a smirk.  
"And?" he asked pleasantly.  
"And," she said, words deliberate and firm, "I believe them to be a load of bullshit."  
  
Isaac's eyes widened in genuine surprise.  
"You believe _what?" _he asked softly. Mary paused. Slowly, her lips curled into an obnoxious grin.  
"I _believe _you heard me the first time." She crossed her legs again. "I've examined all your teachings very carefully, and now that you've returned, I think I've found fault in them." Isaac stared at her in disbelief. After a moment, he recovered and smiled smoothly.  
"Come, then. Enlighten me." He patted the shiny wood of the pew with his palm. "Sit closer."  
"In your dreams," Mary sneered, and clasped her hands behind her head. "However, I will tell you what I found wrong with your teachings." Isaac resisted the urge to scowl. It was rather frustrating, talking with this girl... but he needed to know what fault she had found.  
"Go on," he said thinly. The corners of Mary's mouth twitched a bit, as if her grin wanted to grow but she wouldn't let it.  
"Well, first of all, what about your age?" Isaac's brows finally met in a frown, but he said nothing. Mary went on. "Well, how old are you now? 34?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "I don't understand."  
"Understand what?" he asked, voice still calm. Underneath the complacence, Isaac was beginning to feel tense. His back had already begun to ache again.  
"It doesn't make sense," Mary declared firmly. "When you were a child, the adults were evil. They soiled the earth, they killed the corn, they tainted the children. So they had to be punished, right?" Isaac nodded slowly.  
"Yes." The girl nodded too and plowed on.  
"But now, when _you're _an adult, none of those rules apply." She lowered her arms from behind her head to lace her fingers neatly. "And _that's _what I don't understand." Isaac paused, turning the words over in his mind.  
"I do not make the rules," he said calmly. "I only deliver those sent by He Who Walks--"  
"Don't _do _that!" Her outburst startled him; Isaac nearly jumped. Mary's neatly clasped hands had turned into fists. "Don't hide behind Him! Isaac, when you were a child you were the 'holy one', and you lead the revolt against those who had 'poisoned the earth'! Now _you're _one of them, Isaac!" She paused, suddenly aware that she was shouting, and lowered her voice. "You're one of those that has 'poisoned the earth'. But it doesn't matter anymore, because you're still 'holy'. Only now you're the one who will lead the Children on to salvation -- and most of those Children are adults too!" Mary stopped again. She opened her mouth to continue, then pounded a fist against the shiny wood of the pew. "It doesn't make _sense, _Isaac," she murmured. Isaac stared back at her calmly -- but her words were beginning to get to him.  
"I only do as I have been commanded," he said softly. Mary's blonde brows twitched into another scowl.  
"You're doing it again," she snapped. Then she paused, smiled, and added, "If I were to follow your teachings -- word by word -- you should be dead now." Isaac blinked lazily, but he was inwardly startled. Mary went on. "You would be dead. You, Cora, Rachel... all of you. Because you're adults." Her grin grew a little as she folded her arms behind her head again. "Isn't that right, Isaac?" He said nothing -- because he had no answer.  
  
That angered him deeply, darkly, coldly... but Isaac just smiled.  
"Your tongue is quick, Mary." He pulled himself slowly to his feet, leaning on his cane for support. She frowned a little.  
"Where are you going?" she murmured. Isaac began hobbling carefully towards the altar.  
"Come. I want to show you something." He stopped at the pedestal that the Bible rested on. There was a pause before the girl rose from her own pew and trotted up behind him.  
"Show me," she said sullenly, and Isaac smiled. He began flipping through the Bible quickly, careful of the gold-gilded edges. He paused, contemplated, then placed one finger on the page. It saddened him how old the finger looked, but he went on smoothly.  
"Are you aware of your namesake, Mary?" Isaac said, voice gentle. She was silent for a moment, then scoffed quietly.  
"The Virgin Mary, Mother of God?" There was another pause. Isaac shook his head slowly.  
"You are not like the Virgin Mother," he murmured, and tapped the page lightly with his fingertip. "You have proven to be more like Mary of Magdala." Mary was silent a moment longer before a dark smirk surfaced on her face.  
"Mary Magdalen," she said drily, "was a prostitute." Isaac chuckled softly under his breath.  
"I did not say you were exactly like her." He ran his finger over the page again. "Mary of Magdala was known to all as 'The Sinner'."  
_"Because _she was a prostitute," Mary said, still smirking. Isaac tossed a withering look over his shoulder. His patience was slowly drying up. She must've seen the warning in his glance, because Mary's cocky smile vanished immediately.  
"Yes. Because she was a prostitute." He turned back to the Bible. "She was filled with deep sorrow because of her sinful life. Wanting to be forgiven, she went to a dinner to which Jesus was invited." Isaac let his eyes drift closed, no longer relying on the Scriptures. He knew it all by heart. "She washed His feet with her tears, wiped them with her hair, and poured rich perfume upon them. Simon, who had invited Jesus, thought: 'If this man were a prophet He would knew who this woman was.' " Mary remained quiet; he went on. "Jesus said to him, 'I came into your house and you did not give Me water to wash My feet, but this woman washed My feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. Her many sins are forgiven because she has loved Me very much.' Then Jesus said to Mary, 'Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.' " There was a long period of silence. Isaac closed the Bible.  
"What the _hell _does that story have to do with anything?" asked Mary sharply. She'd found her voice at last, and it was angry.  
"You have come, dear Mary," Isaac murmured, "to ask for forgiveness for your many sins." He turned slowly to face her, the tappings of his cane silent against the carpet. Mary raised her eyebrows.  
"Have I?" she said sarcastically. Isaac pushed gently past her, nudging her aside with his hand.  
"Mary of Magdala knew when she had sinned, and she knew when she needed forgiveness." He paused, then glanced at her over his shoulder with a smile. "Do you, Mary?"  
  
Mary was quiet for a moment.  
"You compare me to 'The Sinner'," she said slowly, "and say that I am here for forgiveness." Isaac sat carefully back down in the pew.  
"Glad to see you've been listening," he said casually. There was another pause; she chewed at her lip absently.  
"So you see me as Mary Magdalen -- and yourself as Jesus Christ?" His lips slowly curled into a grin.  
"Perhaps," Isaac murmured.  
"Wow." Mary shook her head and chuckled softly under her breath. "That has got to be the most egotistical, psychopathic, sacrilgious thing I've ever heard!" As soon as the words left her mouth, Isaac felt his cold complacence give way. Anger was not just an option now -- it was a necessity. Insubordination would _not _be tolerated.  
"It is you who has performed the sacrilege," he growled. "You speak against our Lord when he has taken _care _of us for over 20 years--"  
_"How, _Isaac?!" she yelled. Her hands had clenched into fists, nails biting into the skin of her palms. _"How? _Tell me how! By ordering us to murder our parents? By instructing us to spill innocent blood? By using you and discarding you whenever _He_ saw fit?" Isaac jerked violently, and the pain that shot through his back was hardly noticed.  
"Silence, blaspheme!"  
"NO!" Mary's hand darted for the knife between the hymnals. Moving swiftly, Isaac clamped a hand around her wrist before it reached its destination. Surprised, she gave a hard jerk, but he had her held tight. "Isaac, he's _using _you! He _doesn't care! _He Who Walks Behind The Rows doesn't give a flying fuck if you live or die!" Isaac's lips curled into a snarl, but then he paused. Something glinted through his anger -- reluctant admittance that she might be right. He pushed it away and tightened his grip on her wrist.  
_"I AM THE GIVER OF HIS WORD!" _he shouted, jerking to his feet and yanking Mary hard. She kept bucking violently.  
"Isaac, His Word is a _lie!"_ she screamed. Both of them fell silent; Isaac struggled to keep his breathing regular while Mary twisted and writhed in his grip. After a few long moments of pure silence, he knew what to do. Isaac kept her wrist held tightly, tight enough to hurt, but slowly reached between the hymnals and produced the steak knife. He turned it over slowly, then spread Mary's palm and placed it in her hand.  
"What were you planning to do with this, Mary?" he murmured, releasing her at last. She rubbed her wrist sorely and kept the knife clutched tight in her fingers.  
"Only what you taught me, Isaac," she said softly. His lips twitched into a dark smirk as he took hold of his cane.  
"So happy to see you're following the 'son of God'," he said drily. Mary scowled and raised the knife a little.  
"What do you want me to do, Isaac?" she cried, and there was a note of distress in her voice. "Do you really expect me to wash your feet with my tears and dry them with my hair? Is that what you want?" Isaac paused, then touched the tip of her knife lightly.  
"You cannot spill blood," he murmured. Mary's glare darkened.  
"Oh?" In one swift movement, she jerked the knife forward and back. Isaac's fingertip was knicked harshly; he nearly cried out, more in surprise than pain, but managed to repress it. Isaac lowered his finger, where a bead of blood had started to grow.  
"You cannot stop the prophecy," he said quietly. "Kill me if you must, but my prophecy will last longer than my human body. It will last longer than me, or you, or even the unborn Samuel. Because it will live on in _Him." _Mary kept the knife pointed at him.  
"What makes you so sure?" Isaac spread his uninjured hand gracefully.  
"He ended the drought. He cleansed our sins. He resurrected me from the grave." Isaac smiled. "Much as God brought back His own son." Mary's face darkened.  
"You may have risen from the dead, Isaac," she said coldly, "but you are no Jesus Christ." He stared back at her without expression.  
"Then kill me," Isaac murmured. Mary paused, levelled the knife with his chest -- then slowly shook her head.  
"No," she said softly. "I think I'll leave that to _your _Lord." Mary paused, then stabbed the steak knife hard into the wooden pew.  
"I knew you couldn't." Isaac stared at the knife solemnly. Mary crossed her arms and gave him a quick look-over.  
"Oh, it's not that I couldn't," she said thinly, and returned her gaze back to his face. "It's that I take pride in defiling your teachings." She smiled, lips tight. "I'm letting those who 'poisoned the earth' live. And I believe that goes against your words." Isaac frowned a little. He stared at her; a girl of 15, blonde and blue-eyed, dressed in an old sweater and combat boots. Finally, his face cleared; he placed his injured index finger on her forehead. Isaac pressed the bead of blood against her brow and moved his finger slowly up, then down. A streaky crimson cross stood out harshly against her pale skin. Isaac pulled his hand away, then slowly leaned forward and pressed a light kiss right above the cross of blood.  
"Your sins are forgiven," he said quietly. "Go in peace." Mary, who had been too surprised to react, finally regained composure. She jerked away hard and scowled. One long moment went by; finally, not bothering to wipe the bloody cross from her forehead, she turned and walked towards the church doors.  
"You're making a mistake, Isaac," she murmured. Isaac smiled.  
"The Lord forgives you," he said pleasantly. Mary paused, one palm pressed flat against the door.  
"Go to Hell," she said in a quiet voice. She started to leave, then paused. Mary stared at Isaac for one long, uncomfortable moment, then added, _"I'm_ already there." And then, with a push, she went out the door.  
  
Isaac stared after her for a few long minutes before Jesse emerged where she had left, ski cap jammed down over his head.  
"Isaac--" he began, and stopped.  
"Did you see the girl that left?" Isaac murmured. The teenage boy nodded.  
"Mm hm. Mary Weaver." His face broke into a large grin, briefly flashing madness. Something shifted behind his glasses; lust for blood, a darker soul than one might think. "You want me to waste her?" he asked eagerly. Isaac shuddered inwardly. He was just too much like Malachai.  
"Follow The Sinner," he said softly, "and see that she is punished." Jesse gave him a playful salute, his unbalanced grin growing.  
"Yes, sir," he said, and turned to go. Isaac paused.  
"Wait." Jesse halted, halfway out the door.  
"Yes, sir?" Isaac drummed his fingers restlessly on his cane, then murmured,  
"She has the mark of blood on her brow. If it still stains her skin, see that her punishment is severe. If not -- leave her alone." The half chance that he might not get to perform a punishment irritated Jesse; his brows met briefly.  
"Yes, Isaac," he said, and bounded out the door, machete in hand. Isaac turned away to look at the corn-husk crucifix. Could she have been right? Certainly not. Did He Who Walks Behind The Rows really not care about him? Impossible. Was the prophecy really a lie? Proposterous.  
  
Then why did he suddenly feel frightened of the corn-husk Jesus?  
  
Isaac glanced to his finger. It no longer bled.  
"The prophecy will be complete," he whispered.  
  
Somewhere in the night, Mary Magdalen screamed.


End file.
